Chapter 11
eleven
Easton
“Come on, Cowboy. We’re going out.”
I glare at Shane. “Don’t wanna.” I’m very happy with moping, fuck you very much.
We have a few days off before we fly back to Florida for Instructs.
We did well in the playoffs. We won the Division series but got swept in the League championship.
Both Shane and I were selected for Instructs, which is another session of training and scrimmaging where coaches can spend some extra time working with promising prospects.
I’m waving my pom-poms in excitement. Rah-rah and all that shit.
I’ve really been struggling lately. I know I should be excited and grateful—I am. It’s just hard when I’m a shell of a person. I was prepared for distance from Maddy and how difficult that would be, but I never could have guessed we’d end up here.
No contact for almost a month.
I thought we would be sharing this together.
Yeah, maybe he wouldn’t be here physically, he wouldn’t be playing ball too, but he’d still get every detail, talk game, celebrate my highlights, hear me out through my low points.
Baseball without Maddy…feels empty. Like a hollow imitation of the real thing.
“You’re coming. I’ll drag you there if I have to. Everyone knows the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
I grimace. Yeah, definitely not. Shane thinks I’m moping over Shelby.
I ended things with her. It became clear fast that things were over on my side.
I’d always known she’d been ahead of me in the feelings department—not saying I didn’t care a lot for her, but it had never been love.
And with everything going on with Maddy, it made that even more crystal clear.
Not having Maddy is like walking around with one lung.
Every breath is a struggle. I can still breathe, and I’ll survive, but it’ll always take extra effort.
It’ll never be easy. I don’t feel that way about things being over with Shelby.
What I do feel is like an asshole, for hurting her, for not being able to be what she needed.
At least now she can enjoy her senior year, maybe find the guy she’s meant to be with.
All I know is that my heart is broken in my chest. But it’s not for Shelby.
Arms wrap around me and haul me off the couch. Another set clamp around my legs, and I find myself carried by Shane and another one of our High-A teammates, Paulie Nebiolo.
“What the fuck, guys? Put me down.”
“Did you hear something, Nebs?”
“Hear something, Michaels? Nope, not a thing.”
Assholes. But it’s really an endearment. I do appreciate them.
They unceremoniously drop me and shove me into the backseat, and I grunt as my head bashes into the roof. Okay, I kind of appreciate them. They could have been a little gentler.
“We’re finding you a pretty miss to get you out of your slump,” Paulie says. “Operation save a horse, ride a Cowboy in action.”
Shane snorts and holds up his fist for Paulie to dab. “Brilliant, Nebs.”
We settle in a booth with a pitcher of beer fifteen minutes later.
“All right. What’s your type, Winters?” Paulie asks.
The beer in my gut sloshes uncomfortably.
I don’t really have a type. Because I don’t really have much interest in sleeping with anyone.
Not sure I want to admit that. It wasn’t Shelby’s looks that brought us together, though I do think she’s pretty.
It was the fact that she was kind and genuinely seemed to like my quirks—thought they were adorable.
You’re this six-two sexy wall of muscle, E. Yet you have these little awkward quirks and stumble in social interactions. It’s so endearing that sometimes I’m worried my heart will explode.
So, yeah. That’s me. Bumbling badass ballplayer.
“Beer. Beer’s my type,” I say instead and swallow down half my pint.
Shane laughs. “Come on, man. We’re trying to be your wingmen. Plus, we’ve got the easiest pickup line now.” He drops his voice to a sexy drawl. “Want to know what a night’s like with a pro ballplayer?”
Paulie cackles. “Depends on what kind of ballplayer you are, bro. That line might not land the way you think it will.”
I snicker, but it fades away as I’m immediately assaulted with thoughts of Maddy.
I bet he’d have loved that line. He was so good at picking up.
The queer men of GCSU definitely wanted to know about his ball-playing abilities.
I bet he’s enjoying all sorts of ball playing right now.
Urgh. Fuck. I refill my glass and throw back more beer.
Shane’s grin widens. “Hey, I might not be into dudes, but I’m all for it if they want to appreciate me.”
I roll my eyes, and Paulie and I share a look. Shane’s a huge flirt and an attention whore. I’m not surprised in the least that he wants to be appreciated by all genders—or non-genders. All people.
Paulie leans forward and says in an overloud whisper, “I should sic Frankie on him.”
Frankie is Paulie’s older brother. He’s a major fuckboy and also happens to be queer. He’d have too much fun toying with Shane and his attention-whore ways.
Not gonna lie, I’m a bit jealous of Frankie.
He’s the epitome of sex. Dark hair, dark eyes, flawless olive skin, and walks around like he knows how hot he is.
And he throws out Italian every once in a while—in a perfect accent, even though he and Paulie don’t even speak it fluently—which just adds to his appeal.
He learned all the dirty phrases, of course.
Apparently, it scores him hook-ups every time.
Then there’s me. Who says things like, “Hey-ho, howdy.” When Shelby had first asked me out, I think I said something along the lines of, “That would be coolio.” Coolio. I don’t think that’s ever been coolio to say. I am the antithesis of Frankie.
Let’s just say, I’m happy Frankie won’t be meeting Maddy.
My gut squirms, and I top off my beer from the fresh pitcher the waitress just placed in front of us.
That’s probably not a fair thought. Maddy can be with whoever he wants.
He’s my best friend. I wash down the tightness in my throat with more beer.
He might still be my best friend. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend. He should find his person.
My lungs spasm, and pain rips through my chest. Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I put my glass to my lips and don’t put it down until I’ve finished the entire pint. I slam it down on the table, breathing heavily. That’s when I register the silence.
I glance up, my attention bouncing between a wide-eyed Paulie and Shane.
“Dude. We’ve been here for like a hot second, and that was—what?—three beers?” Paulie says slowly.
I open my mouth, but no words surface. Something else, something so much worse, threatens. I slam my fist to my mouth to stifle the sob. The buzz in my brain swirls with the storm of emotion brewing inside me. Fans the flames, encourages it. I need to get out of here. I need air.
I practically leap from the booth and hustle to the bathroom, barely keeping myself from breaking into a run.
I hurry past it to the back exit, then shove through the door.
The cool South Carolina night hits me, and I suck in a long draught, letting that late-September air soothe my straining lungs.
I smack my palm against the brick wall of the building, a half-yell, half-sob ripping from my throat.
Fuck Maddox. Why the fuck is he doing this to me?
To us? He’s being a fucking coward. Won’t even talk to me?
Won’t even tell me what the fuck is going on?
My blood burns like lava, so hot I’m surprised I’m not breathing steam.
It’s such classic fucking Maddy. He gets upset and goes radio silent. Well, it’s not fucking fair. And it’s not fucking cool. We’ve been friends for fifteen years. He owes me an explanation.
I whip out my phone, and my fingers punch the screen until the screen lights up with an outgoing call to Maddy.
I know he won’t answer. Because why the fuck would he answer me these days?
I’d given up on leaving messages, given up on calling.
But tonight, I’m leaving a message. I’m giving him a piece of my mind. Fucking force-feeding it to him.
His voicemail recording plays, and it only adds fuel to the fire raging inside me.
Flames of red fury and blue despair. The familiarity of his voice, the way my body instantly wants to lean into the sound even though it’s only coming from my phone, has a growl erupting from my throat.
He’s shattering me. Can’t he see that? How can he think he can just stop all contact, and I wouldn’t fucking break?
The tone beeps, and I unleash. A month’s worth of holding back, of confusion, of anguish and anger and being fucking abandoned by my person comes crashing forth. I’m storming the mound, all my volatile emotions charging behind me.
“How could you, Maddy?” I yell into the phone.
“How could you fucking do this to me? I deserve better than this. Fifteen years of friendship. God, more than friendship. We’re so much more than friends, and you know it.
And you fucking cut me off without explanation? Well, fuck you, Madz. Fuck. You.”
I hold the phone in front of me, glaring at it like it’s the enemy.
My ragged breaths tear from me, fogging up my phone’s screen.
My throat tightens, and the words barely surface as the pain tries to smother me.
“I need distance, you said. You owe me a fucking explanation, Maddox Barnes. Because I need distance doesn’t make any fucking sense.
You’re a fucking liar. A fucking pathetic coward.
Who even are you? The Maddy I know would have never done this to me. ”
A sob rips from me, and I slam the side of my fist against the wall, not even caring about the pain that shoots down my forearm, not even caring how important that hand is to my future.
I’m too furious with myself now that I let that sob free.
I’m too furious with the man on the other side of the phone.
Maddy doesn’t deserve to know how much he’s tearing me apart.
My forehead drops to the wall, the rough brick cutting into my skin.
I hold the microphone up to my mouth. “Why are you doing this to me?” I plead.
“How can you throw us away so easily? You’re everything to me, Maddy.
And I’m nothing to you? Discardable?” My voice breaks, and a strangled sound bursts from me.
My breaths are coming short and sharp, too fast. I can’t get enough air.
Gentle hands land on my arm and pull me off the wall.
I barely register the concerned “Cowboy?” before I crumble against the faintly familiar presence and finally succumb to the agony breeding inside me.
The sobs consume me. I can’t fight them anymore, can’t keep my head above water.
I’ve been treading water for far too long.
I drown.